


Temporary Madness And Sophisticated Destruction

by 2honeycomb_curls2



Category: South Park
Genre: Closeted Character, Developing Friendships, Fluff and Humor, Kissing, Libraries, Light Angst, Love Poems, M/M, Old Friends, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pining, Reconciliation, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Sharing Clothes, Tutoring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:40:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26868292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2honeycomb_curls2/pseuds/2honeycomb_curls2
Summary: Stan could probably use a tutor, but he'd likely fare better with one the isn't his super best friend he hasn't spoken to in years.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	1. Failing English

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I have two other WIPs I'm supposed to be working on. Yes, I'm starting a whole other fic. It's called self care. I wrote this instead of doing my AP psych project. Enjoy the first chapter <3 <3

Failing English was bad enough before parent teacher conferences, but now, on top of the embarrassment of apparently being too fucking stupid to annotate a text, Sharon is demanding he start seeing a tutor. 

Which, yeah, ok, Stan could probably actually really use one. It's not like he's just barely failing English. No, he's failing miserably, and a tutor would actually be really helpful. That's not the problem. The problem is that his mother took it upon herself to pick the tutor for him, which he should have known was a bad idea, but still, he didn't expect this.

"Kyle Broflovski? You want Kyle fucking Broflovski to tutor me?"

"Stanley! Language!"

"This is ridiculous!" Stan shouts, watching as his mother moves quickly around the kitchen. "This isn't even about the tutoring! This is just some plot to get me to reconnect with Kyle. You've been trying since eighth grade!"

Sharon swoops back over to the stove where a pot of water is boiling, adjusting the heat before turning to her son. "Stanley, don't be so dramatic. Kyle is a very smart boy. He has a 4.0 GPA, you know, and he's in the advanced English classes. You know, maybe if you applied yourself a little more-"

"I do apply myself!" Stan argues, folding his arms over his chest. "That's not what this is about. You just want me to be Kyle's friend again because you think he's a good influence on me."

Sharon raises a brow at him, pursing her lips in a manner that conveys if he keeps this up, the consequences will be dire. "Stanley. This isn't me playing matchmaker with your little friends, this is about your future. I thought you wanted to go to college."

"I do, but-"

"Kyle is tutoring you and that's final. I've already set everything up with Sheila. Now stop hounding me and get out of the kitchen."

Stan swallows his argument, storming out of the kitchen and running up to his room and slamming the door, hard enough to make a point but not hard enough to get his mom up the stairs and yelling at him. He groans, falling into his desk chair and booting up his computer.

He should probably be studying, but his English grade is already fucked, so why does it even matter? He can read that stupid Gatsby chapter tomorrow. Of course, he does have English first period, so that's not really the smartest idea, but it's not like it's good planning that's gotten him into his current situation.

He pulls up his dummy Facebook account. He still can't bring himself to make an actual one after the Facebook incident of fourth grade. He types Kyle's name into the search bar, clicking on his profile. An assortment of pictures popped up on the screen.

Kyle's look had changed since the summer after eighth grade, when Stan last spoke to him. He ditched the dreaded green hat long ago, and now has much tamer auburn curls than he had as a child. His style is different, too, but not much, considering South Park is five inches deep in snow year round and there's really nothing you can wear but heavy coats and layers.

Stan is pulled away from his pathetic Facebook stalking by his phone buzzing. He shimmies it out of his jeans pocket, checking his messages.

Henrietta: parents are gone, wanna come over and smoke a bowl ???

Stan left his goth phase behind in elementary school, when he first got his hopeless little heart broken and long before he had anything to actually be sad about, but Henrietta Biggle is good company for getting high and moaning about his problems, so he keeps her around.

Stan: be over in 15

Stan slips on his coat and leaves out the front door. Nobody asks where he's going, to his relief. The walk to Henrietta's house doesn't take anywhere near fifteen minutes, since it's such a tiny town they live in, but Stan takes the long way. He tugs his coat tighter around himself as he walks, cold air biting at his skin. 

He's always enjoyed walking around the town. As much as he wants to leave South Park behind, there's something therapeutic about walking down every alley way and sidewalk and knowing exactly where it could lead him. He knows almost the whole town like the back of his hand, and has since he was eight years old and being tugged along on crazy adventures by super best friend.

By the time he gets to Henrietta's house, it's dark out, and she wastes no time leading him up to her room and offering him a hit from the bong. He's stoned off his ass within an hour, and only then does he say "My mom is making me get an English tutor."

"So?" Henrietta says. Her eyes are red and she has that dopey look on her face, which is nice considering it's usually replaced by a ruthless scowl.

"So" Stan whines "She's making me get tutored by Kyle."

"Kyle Broflovski?" She pronounces his last name wrong, always has, although Stan can never put his finger on which particular part of the word she's mispronouncing. "I thought you didn't talk to that conformist anymore."

Stan swallows thickly. "I don't. And he's not a conformist, he's- my mom is making me. And he's probably still mad at me."

"Well, what did you do?"

"Fucking- a lot, but like, if you're talking about what I did to make him hate my guts, we got into some stupid fight before freshman year and I said some really stupid shit."

Henrietta giggles at that, which is something she only does when she's high, and even then only at inappropriate times. "I hope he kicks your ass."

"Jeez, thanks, Henrie."

///

Walking into the South Park Public Library feels like a death sentence. The library is shitty, and Stan would have preferred to meet at the school library, but they go to a shitty hick town public school and the library closes an hour before the school does for some fucking reason, so their mothers arranged for them to meet here instead. 

Stan makes the short drive from the school to the library. His heating system doesn't work, so his ugly old car is a freezer on wheels, and he's shivering by the time he walks into the library, which he tries to stop immediately because Kyle might think he's scared of him. Which he is, but still, the shaking is a sign of weakness. 

He spots Kyle sooner than he'd have liked to, hunkered over his phone at an off-brown colored table. He stares for a moment, debating just making a run for it, and then decides that it'd actually be worse to leave Kyle sitting there alone in the library with no explanation. Still, he can't bring himself to move, and stands there in the middle of the library with his hands at his sides like an idiot.

He's still half-considering bolting when Kyle looks up and sees him, familiar green eyes snapped onto his. They stare at each other for a moment, Kyle's brow raised in question. Stan remains still, until finally Kyle rolls his eyes, motioning annoyedly for Stan to come over. 

Stan snaps out of his stillness, almost rushing over to the table and taking the seat across from Kyle rather than the seat next to him, which seems safer, but he can't be too sure. 

"It's about time you showed up." Kyle says snottily, but it's overdramatized, as if Kyle is actively trying to be snotty just to get on Stan's nerves. "You were supposed to be here like, twenty minutes ago."

"Sorry." Stan mumbles, looking down at his nails. Over the years he'd picked up a bad habit of picking at the skin around his nails, and now it was always mangled and brutally picked apart, making it near impossible to use hand sanitizer without his hands stinging, which is only a minor inconvenience, but still an inconvenience. 

Kyle stares him down. "Whatever. Just don't do it again. So, I think we should-"

"No, I meant... sorry your mom is making you do this, or whatever."

Kyle rolls his eyes again, somehow even more harshly. "What-fucking-ever, Stan. This isn't some heart to heart where we reconnect and I forget about everything you said to me, so just think of this as some mandatory partner project or something. Got it?"

"Ok, Jesus." Stan is a little winded by Kyle's outburst, although he's seen Kyle have an actual outburst, and that was far from it. "Sorry for trying to make this bearable."

"Nothing about this is bearable. I could be home right now, watching a movie or something, but your mommy called my mommy and now we're both stuck here. Please just tell me what you're having trouble with in class so at least one of us can get something out of this experience."

"Fucking everything, dude." It takes all of Stan's will power not to snap at Kyle. "I suck at everything."

"Yeah, but what specifically? What did you get on the last quiz?"

Stan sighs, reaching into his backpack and fishing his graded quiz sheet out of his folder, sliding it over to Kyle, who picks it up and snorts. "Jesus, Stan. How do you even fuck up this bad? It's multiple choice!"

"Well, we can't all be in AP Lit." Stan says, bouncing his leg up and down rapidly. Kyle peers at him from over the paper, before putting it down on the table at an angle where Stan can't see the words. 

"Ok, well, you got the first question wrong. What is an assonance?" Kyle looks up at him expectantly. "Well? Do you know what an assonance is now?"

Stan thinks for a moment, opening his mouth to say something before ultimately closing it, shrugging helplessly. Kyle sighs. "Looks like we'll be here awhile."


	2. Nick Is Gay

If Stan had it his way, he'd never have to step foot in the Broflovski house again. But he can't have it his way, so here he is, driving in his shitty car down the shitty South Park streets. 

Two weeks of tutoring with Kyle and there wasn't even any improvement, which Stan figures is mostly because they just spend most of the time passive aggressively snipping at each other. Or, at least, Kyle does. Stan still feels guilty about their fight. But the fact of the matter is, he has to sit in that dumpy library every Tuesday and Thursday and he has nothing to show for it.

Not today, though. Today, for some fucking reason, Kyle demanded they meet at his his house instead. Stan isn't looking forward to it, and drives below the speed limit as he flips through the radio stations. An old Weezer song comes on and he half-listens to it as he worries himself half to death.

Would Sheila open the door? Maybe. She and Kyle are close, or at least they used to be when he still talked to Stan, so she probably knows about every nasty thing they said to each other. But then again, she probably doesn't, since Kyle would have to tell her some things to explain why they had even fought.

Stan pulls into the driveway of Kyle's house much sooner than he'd thought he would. He's still running late, but not as late as he could be. He'd figured out the formula to it long ago when they were still children. He knew how early was too early and would get on Kyle's nerves, and how late was too late and would get him yelled at, but he'd also learned that it made Kyle a little uncomfortable when he arrived precisely on time. Kyle was weird like that.

Against his better judgement, Stan pulls himself out of his god awful car, which is green of all colors, an ugly dark green that Stan despises. He trudges up the steps and rings the doorbell, limbs feeling heavy, and rolls on his heels as he waits for someone to answer the door.

When the door finally bursts open, there's a kid standing there who's maybe twelve, with dark hair, and Stan only realizes after a moment that it's Ike. Jesus, he hasn't been here in a while.

"Woah. Hey. You're huge." Ike says, with the same cheeky smirk he'd had as a small child, five years old and tagging along when Stan and Kyle went off to the arcade to play Street Fighter. Sometimes, they'd pool their tickets and buy Ike one of the big stuffed animals, because even though they'd never admit it to anyone their age, they both really adored Ike.

"Thanks, I think." Stan says.

"Yeah, I meant it as a compliment. Kyle's upstairs on his room, doing homework or something. That is why you're here, right?"

Stan gnaws on his bottom lip. "Yeah, just- he's tutoring me in English."

"Cool. Well, come in. Like I said, he's upstairs. Good to see you again."

Stan steps inside and toes off his shoes, thinking about being nine again and Sheila scolding him and Kyle about tracking snowy sludge through the house, all over her carpets. She doesn't seem to be in sight, and is probably out doing whatever it is she'd always done, so Stan makes a beeline for the stairs.

Walking in the hallways of the house feels like being a ghost, a memory long forgotten and out of place. The set up is exactly the same as it was when he was fourteen, but some of the pictures on the walls have changed. Stan notices with a slight pang in his heart that the framed photo of him and Kyle at Stark's Pond that used to hang in the hallway has been replaced by some picture of Ike.

He raps on the door that's always been Kyle's bedroom door, the door he's opened without knocking a thousand times. The door opens after a moment, and Kyle looks unimpressed, which is fair, Stan thinks, since he isn't all that impressive. "You didn't have to knock, you know this is my room."

"Still, nice to knock." Stan says, and is relieved when Kyle just rolls his eyes and walks back into the room, although he does miss Kyle's gaze, if only for a second. He follows him into the room, setting his backpack on the floor and watching as Kyle clears some papers off his bed. He puts them in a stack and sets them on the nightstand, giving Stan a hard stare as he motions for him to sit.

"What Gatsby chapter were you supposed to read this week?" Kyle asks as Stan scrambles to sit.

"Chapter six."

"Let me read your annotations." He holds out his hand, and Stan forks over the battered paperback. 

Kyle flips silently through the book, reading over the scribbled notes Stan had made at his teacher's insistence. Stan watches him do so, and then realizes that's weird, staring down at the comforter instead. He listens to the slow sound of the paper flipping, and the clock on Kyle's desk ticking menacingly.

"These are horrible." Kyle said. Stan looked up, and Kyle was still looking down at the book, though this time in mild irritation. "Jesus. I mean, this annotation literally just says 'Nick is gay.' I mean, really."

"Well." Stan says slowly, as Kyle finally meets his gaze. "He is. Or he has a crush on Gatsby, at the least."

Kyle laughs, sharp and almost forcefully. "That's ironic, don't you think?"

Stan stiffens. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Kyle says, tossing the book back at Stan. "Let's just get back to the book." 

"No. Listen, I know I'm an asshole, but if you wanna tell me I'm an asshole just say it."

"Fine, you're an asshole."

"Fuck you."

"Great, glad you got that off your chest." Kyle says, with a sudden disinterest in the conversation. "Now, if we could focus on your stupid book, I have things I have to do."

"You know, I don't come here so you can be mad at me."

"No, you actually come here because your mom makes you." Kyle says, eyeing him fiercely. "And don't try to act like I don't get to be mad at you. Not after you... well, anyway. You have a quiz tomorrow. Let's just focus on that."

"Fuck that." Stan says. He stuffs the book into his backpack, zipping it hastily and throwing the bag over his shoulders. "I don't need your fucking tutoring. I don't even care if I fail English. And neither do you. So kiss my ass, Kyle. I'm out of here."

There's an enraged glint in his dark green eyes, but he seems to swallow it, glowering at Stan. "Fine. Have fun failing your quiz, asshat. Get the fuck out of my house."

Stan does, flying down the stairs and out the front door. He starts up the car and makes it all the way home before he realizes he's not even angry. Maybe he never really was, not even all the way back in the summer before freshman year.

Well, too late for that, he thinks.


	3. Piggyback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Stan's birthday !!! I feel bad about making him angsty now but, whatever. Gotta be angsty for the plot. Also, this is like the worst thing I've ever written.

Eating lunch on the bleachers outside is what all the lame kids do, but, whatever. Stan might as well be a lame kid. Butters isn't at school that day and Henrietta will be behind the school with her posse of judgmental freaks that Stan hasn't gotten along with in years. All his other friends can barely be considered friends, mostly just people he associates with out of necessity. So when the lunch bell rings, Stan slings his backpack over his shoulders and heads out the doors, sitting at the very top of the bleachers. 

He puts in his earplugs and watches the group of freshman boys play soccer down on the field. It's not even noon yet, because, well, that's public school for you, and it's much too early to have the energy for a game, which irritates Stan because it personally offends him for some reason. 

He's nibbling on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and he's so lost in thought he doesn't even notice Kyle walking determinedly up the steps until he's sitting right next to him, glowering at Stan like he just kicked his dog. "What?"

Kyle huffs as if he's just been insulted. "My mom found out I stopped tutoring you. She's pissed."

"Ok." Stan says, not sure how that's his problem, but that's a bitchy thing to say. He has half a mind to say every bitchy thing that crosses his train of thought to Kyle, but he's not actually mad at him, just mad in general.

"So... listen, are you still failing English?"

Stan sighs. "Maybe. I have a quiz coming up, so-"

"I'll take that as a yes."

"See, this is your problem." Stan says. "You think you get to be a dick to me just because I used to be a dick to you."

"Used to be?" Kyle's eyebrows shoot up into his hair and he looks genuinely appalled by the statement. "Used to be?! Stan, you are still the biggest pain in the ass I've ever talked to. And I talk to Cartman on a regular basis!"

"Fuck you! I stole you a kidney." Stan defends, and Kyle laughs at that, something genuine in it that's gone in a second. 

"If I had known I'd have to spend the rest of my miserable thanking you for that, I would've just told you to let me die, you sadistic freak." He stood suddenly, snatching up his backpack and snarling at him with so much force Stan leans back. "You know what, you were an asshole when we were ten, you were an asshole in eighth grade, and you're an asshole now."

Kyle turns to leave, stomping down the stairs, and Stan is about to yell something after him, though he isn't sure what, when Kyle's foot snags on something. He shouts, falling hard and tumbling down a couple stares, catching the attention of nearby losers also eating in the solitude of the bleachers. 

Stan is up in less than a second, instinctually moving to help Kyle up. He grabs his arm to help him up but Kyle snarls at him and slaps his arms away. "Don't touch me, dickwad!"

"Jesus, alright!" Stan says, stepping away. Kyle continues to glower at him, moving to stand, but he shouts in pain and collapses back to his previous position. Stan goes to help and is once again pushed away. 

"Jesus, Kyle, stop being a bitch. I'm trying to help you."

Kyle scowls but makes no attempt to push him away this time as Stan helps him to stand. He slings an arm over Stan's shoulder, seemingly without his own permission, to steady himself. "Fuck. I think I twisted my ankle."

"Do you want me to take you to the nurse?"

Kyle's face screws up unpleasantly, but he nods after subconsciously putting his weight on his ankle and wincing. Stan goes back to where he was sitting to gather his things before helping Kyle hobble off the bleachers.

Halfway across the football field and to the doors, Stan frowns, realizing they're not going to make it very far with Kyle hopping around angrily. Stan sighs, stopping to take his back pack off and lean over. Kyle gives him a questioning look. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Come on, dude. Piggyback ride."

Kyle reeled back. "Fuck no! What am I, some chick? Can you even carry me?"

"Probably." Stan says, though he's unsure now. "Well, either way, I don't see another option, unless you wanna limp all the way to the nurse's office."

Kyle considers it for a moment, before groaning and hopping onto Stan's back. Stan adjusts him. Kyle is definitely heavier than he looks, but it's manageable, and he heads inside the school building. Thankfully, nobody is really in the hallway, which saves them both the embarrassment. 

"Do you remember when we were little?" Stan finds himself speaking before he can stop himself. "That one summer, where we would give each other piggyback rides all over town. I just... I dunno, I just remembered that."

"Yeah, we were like, seven. I remember you being fucking heavy."

"Yeah, well, you weren't all that light yourself." Kyle laughed, just barely, but it still made Stan's chest burn up like it had when they were younger. They're silent the rest of the way, and Stan drops Kyle off in front of the nurse's office, Kyle leaning against the wall as he turns to look at him. 

"Uh, thanks, I guess."

"Yeah, well, I may be a dick but I'm not just gonna let you die on the bleachers."

Kyle nods, and they stand there for a minute, silently wallowing in some unidentifiable emotion. Maybe a mix of unresolved anger and tender unplaced melancholy. Finally Kyle sighs. "Well, you're still a dick, but I can keep tutoring you if you want."

"Oh." Stan blinks, then fights down a nervous chuckle. "Um. Yeah. Sure, I guess that'd be cool." 

"Kay." Kyle says, readjusting his backpack straps and lingering another moment before disappearing wordlessly into the nurse's office. A bell rings, signaling the end of the lunch period. Stan heads in the direction of his next class, but he's on autopilot, filled with misplaced memories and unreadable emotions.


	4. McCormick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, it has been a HOT minute since I've updated, and really I should be updating my other fics right now cuz it's been even longer for them, but hey, writer's block, am I right?

On Tuesday morning Stan wakes up knowing it's going to be a terrible day. 

His alarm doesn't go off for some reason, so he wakes up late, and ends up rushing around the house. He doesn't have time to shower so his old poof-ball hat that barely fits anymore is gonna have to do as far as his greasy hair is concerned. He tries to have breakfast, but just ends up spilling orange juice on himself, which means he has to change, and he was already in the last clean clothes he had, so he ends up in a ratty old band t-shirt from his bedroom floor and some sweatpants. 

And as if all of that isn't bad enough, when he finally thinks he might actually be able to make it to school on time, his car won't start. It's not surprising, since it really is such a shitty car, but still, it's the last thing he needs right now. 

"Come on, come on." Stan mutters, turning the key in the ignition with a death grip as the car sputters helplessly. He gives up, slapping the steering wheel. "Fuck!"

His mom and dad are already at work, and he's definitely missed the bus by now, not that he was seriously considering taking it in the first place because that's humiliating. So Stan does the only thing he can think to. He gets out of his shitty car and starts walking to school, in the Colorado snow in nothing but a t-shirt and sweatpants. Well, he thinks, at least he has the hat. 

The walk to school is taking longer than he expected, and he's freezing his balls off. He's probably going to get hypothermia, and then he'll end up in the hospital and his dad will complain for days on end about the hospital bill, even though it's his fault Stan is even in this situation. He'd told him that his car was making weird sounds and Randy told him to just ignore it, and now here he is, halfway to school with his eyes practically frozen open.

By the time he gets to school, he's so thankful for the heating inside the building that he doesn't even care that he's thirty minutes late to first period. He explains the situation to the secretary at the front desk, who gives him a hard glare and lectures him about responsibility but gives him a pass anyway. 

He slips into his seat in first period chemistry, resolving to not even bother trying to get caught up. He'll get the notes from Butters later. He's zoning out, staring out the window at nothing in particular and thinking about how he's gonna get home, when he suddenly remembers he still has tutoring with Kyle today. He groans, and the girl sitting in front of him throws a disapproving glance over he shoulder. As if today couldn't get any worse. 

Stan catches Kyle after third period, stopping him at his locker. "Hey. I can't make it today."

Kyle doesn't even bother looking at him, digging through his locker to find something. "What do you mean you can't make it?"

"I mean my car broke down. I can't make it to the library after school."

"Do you wanna fail your essay?"

"No, but-"

"Ok, then you're gonna need to put in a little effort here." 

Stan huffs. "What do you want me to do? I told you, dude, my car broke down. I had to walk all the way to school."

"Then I'll give you a ride. To the library, and back home, I guess. Meet me in the parking lot after school. And if you're late I'll skin you." Kyle pulls a heavy looking textbook from his locker, slamming it shut before finally turning to look at Stan. "Nice hat, by the way."

"Thanks." Stan grumbles, even though Kyle is already walking away and also it was definitely sarcastic. Up until now, Stan hasn't worn it since their fight. He starts heading in the direction of his next class, but is quickly intercepted by Henrietta. "Were you just talking to that conformist? I thought you guys hated each other."

"No, he hates me." Stan corrects her. "And yeah, I told you, my mom is making me get tutored by him." 

"Ok. But this isn't tutoring, so why were you talking to him just now?"

"Apparently he's giving me a ride to the library. My car broke down. I told you my dad should've done something about it."

Henrietta looks at him thoughtfully, as if deciding something. "Well, that's awful chummy of him to offer you a ride. Are you sure you're not getting a little close for comfort?"

"Jesus, you sound like my mom."

She hums. "Whatever. I just don't want you getting too close if he's gonna keep hating your guts."

"Yeah, well, him hating my guts is perfectly reasonable."

///

The school day dragged on and by the time the final bell rings, Stan is dreading tutoring with Kyle. As if it isn't bad enough they have to spend an extra hour after school together, now they're stuck with car rides, too. Maybe even until Stan gets his car fixed. He hopes that doesn't take too long.

He meets Kyle in the parking lot right on time just like Kyle said, and Kyle leads him towards his car. It's nicer than Stan's, but then again most cars are. The ride to the library is tense. Stan considers making small talk, but ultimately decides against it. 

On the bright side of things, Kyle's heating system works. They enter the library silently together, situating themselves at a small table tucked away in the corner. Stan gets out his laptop and opens up to his rough draft for his essay, which is... really rough. 

"How do you make this many grammatical errors?" Kyle asks, eyes still scanning over the words. "I think you have to actually be trying in order to write something this bad."

"Dude, I don't know, ok? That's the whole reason I'm here."

Kyle rolls his eyes, and gets to work telling Stan where he went wrong and how he can fix it. They manage to fix up the first draft and even get a few sentences in on the final draft before Kyle's cell phone starts ringing. A few nearby people turn to glare at them, but Kyle doesn't seem to notice, answering the phone instead. 

"Hello?" There's a brief pause as the person on the other line speaks. "Hey, McCormick."

Kenny? Stan hasn't talked to Kenny since he stopped talking to Kyle. He kind of misses him, the three of them were always close, or at least closer than any of them were with Cartman. Kyle keeps talking. "No, not practice. I'm at the library. Why, what's up?"

Kyle pauses again, drumming his nails on the table. "Shit, ok. Yeah, I can. Ok, give me like ten minutes. Stay safe." Another pause. "Yeah, I'll let him know."

Kyle hangs up and starts packing his things. He's standing to leave by the time Stan stops him. "Wait a minute, wait. Where are you going?"

"I've got things I need to do. I'll see you at our next session."

"Woah, hold up, you can't just leave me here. Dude, I still need a ride."

Realization floods Kyle's face and he sighs, tilting his head back a bit in frustration. "Alright, fine. Get in the car, but I'm making my stop first."

Stan scrambles out the library door and into the passenger's seat, not wanting to delay Kyle and make him angrier. He is his ride, after all. Kyle turns on the car and types something out furiously on his phone, probably a text to someone, before peeling out of the parking lot. 

Kyle doesn't move to turn the radio on, which catapults the car into suffocating silence. This time they seem to be driving a little longer than it takes to get from the high school than the library, and about twenty minutes into driving Stan can't take the silence anymore. 

"So... when you said practice-"

"Basketball practice." Kyle snaps, and his words feel so heated that Stan shrinks in on himself. He clears his throat. 

"Uh, yeah, that's cool. Really cool. Um, I tried out for the track team freshman year, but I didn't make it."

"We really don't have to do the small talk thing." Kyle says, and Stan takes that as his cue to shut his stupid mouth unless he wants Kyle to leave him here on the side of the road. 

Stan gets a little anxious when they head into the bad part of town, near the docks. Kyle brings the car to a stop in the middle of the street near an alleyway, and Stan is about to ask why when he takes notice of a smallish figure running towards the car. The back door opens and the person falls into the backseat, slamming the door behind them. "Christ, it's cold as shit out there. Thanks for picking me up, Kyle."

"No problem, Karen."

Karen McCormick buckles herself in as Stan tries not to act surprised. He hasn't seen her since she was little. Well, he has, but only in the context of it being a small town and it being impossible to go anywhere without seeing somebody you know. 

"Did you tell Kenny about the situation?" She asks. "I would've asked him to come pick me up, but, you know. No car. Also I'm pretty sure he has some kind of feud going on with one of the hookers over here."

"Jesus, of course he does. Yeah, I told him. And what are you doing all the way out here anyway?"

"Business as usual." Karen says simply, turning to look and Stan and seemingly realizing for the first time that he's in the car. "Oh, hey, man! Stan, right? You used to be friends with Kenny."

"Uh... yeah, I guess." He says, feeling a bit like he's in an altered reality. 

"Yeah, and you still hang with Henrietta, right? She taught me how to sew and do my eyeliner. Cool chick."

"Sure, yeah, she is."

On the drive to the McCormick house, Kyle and Karen talk as if they're old friends. It's alarming to Stan, to say the least. They drop her off in front of her house, and she presses a friendly peck to Kyle's cheek, bidding Stan farewell as she darts out of the car and into her house. 

"I'll drop you off next." Kyle tells Stan, pulling out of the driveway. 

"Oh. Ok." He isn't sure who else Kyle would drop off next, but he doesn't mention it. "So, uh... Karen?"

Kyle sighs. "I thought I told you no small talk."

"Oh, right. Sorr-"

"It's fine." He eyes Stan warily, as if he's going to start yelling at any moment. "She hangs around the house a lot. She's friends with Ike. So, you know, she's kinda like a sister to me now. And Kenny's practically raising her. You know how their parents are. Jesus, their parents."

"Yeah." Stan says dumbly. The McCormick family is always the talk of the town. Usually Carol and Stuart are the main reason why, with their just being shitty people in general and whatnot, but sometimes Kenny steals the spotlight by doing something especially cool that everyone at school can't stop talking about. Kenny is rather popular. 

"Well, that's really cool, dude." Stan says, trying to keep the conversation going, though he's not sure why. "It's cool that you help out with her."

Kyle snorts. "Help out. You make it sound like I do her laundry or make her dinner or something. I just give her a ride home sometimes. Kenny's family doesn't have a car."

Kyle pulls to a stop in front of Stan's house, and Stan lingers another minute. "Well, still. It's nice of you."

"Thanks." Kyle says monotonously, but still there's something under it that makes it seem genuine. Stan climbs out of the car, thanking Kyle for the ride. He doesn't shiver the whole way to the door, even though it's still freezing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> excuse any typos, I'm dumb <3<3


End file.
